68 AN ANGLER'S LINES. 



our first jack was taken, and it would have 

 required a hard heart indeed to have returned 

 it to the water, and respecting its fate I will 

 maintain discreet silence. 



Left in sole possession of the swim I 

 deeiried it advisable, after the recent dis- 

 turbance, that it should have no further 

 troubling for the next half hour, and lighting 

 .a pipe, I took a leisurely survey of my 

 surroundings . 



How familiar they all were, and what 

 ^different memories they revived. How many 

 hours I had spent with a pike -rod by the 

 little backwater that flowed into the canal by 

 yonder bush. Hours when success had come 

 sparingly, and again, shall I confess it, hours 

 when it "had been withheld altogether; but 

 happy, delightful, hours nevertheless. Then, 

 in the twilight of one winter evening, it had 

 given to me its best, and a lasting and tender 

 .memory invests it. My eyes rest upon a dark 

 line that marks the course of a small and 

 .narrow stream bisecting one side of a meadow. 



